WaT What's Needed
by Mariel3
Summary: A missing twelve year old girl's case reveals more than expected. JS
1. Default Chapter

Title: What's Needed Author: Mariel Category: J/S Rating: I dunno, so just in case, let's say R Summary: It starts with a missing twelve-year old and goes from there. Sometimes what's needed is all you can do.  
  
What's Needed by: Mariel  
  
Chapter 1  
  
Shelly Smith tossed her bedclothes to one side, rose, dressed quickly, and ran downstairs. Taking her place at the kitchen table, she reached for a box of Frosted Flakes and shook the white-iced flakes into a bright blue bowl. Pouring more milk over it than she knew her mother would approve of, she gulped down a few mouthfuls, then noticed the time on the clock. As she put down her spoon, her mother came into the kitchen. "You're running late," she warned. Shelly nodded. Rising, she went over to kiss her mother on the cheek. "Have a good day. I'll see you later," she said. Her mother smiled and turned to clear the table.  
  
Shelly's voice soon wafted down from the front hall. "Mom! Where're my black shoes?" "In the closet," her mother called back. Shortly after, as she reached for the milk container, Monica Smith heard the front door slam. She winced at the loud sound, shook her head, then continued her morning chores.  
  
-14 Hours Missing  
  
Samantha Spade put her pen down with a clunk and pushed slender fingers through already disheveled blond hair. It was ten p.m., they'd started the kind of missing person's case that morning that always bothered her, and she was more than just a little frustrated at the lack of progress they'd made.  
  
A warm hand on her shoulder made her lean back and look up.  
  
"You should go home, Sam," Jack Malone told her in a quiet tone.  
  
"You, too," she replied, her voice soft.  
  
He moved to lean against the edge of her desk. "Yeah, well..."  
  
She understood. Sitting here in their offices seemed a better choice somehow, as though, should they wait long enough, the missing would appear to them, healthy and whole by some miracle that only their vigil would grant. Staying here, when all that could be done appeared to have been done, was the one thing left to do.  
  
Just as reluctant as he to call it quits, she looked at the files she'd been making notes on. Impulsively, she asked, "Would it be crazy if I suggested we take those across the street and go over them again while we get something to eat?" She placed a hand over her stomach. "I'm starved."  
  
He smiled. "Crazy? No. But I know you're just trying to delay calling it a night. Besides," he added in a quieter tone, "you know our leaving together would be noted."  
  
She gave him a dark-eyed look. "So is our being the only ones still here," she said. Before he could say anything in response, she raised her hand. "I know, I know... it's just that sometimes I feel trapped, you know? I-" She left the sentence unfinished, her voice trailing into a silence that said more than she felt able to say aloud.  
  
They regarded one another a long moment. No need to rake up memories here: memories were constantly with them, stirring up a longing that they never, no matter their resolutions, managed to rid themselves of.  
  
Both started when the phone on Samantha's desk rang shrilly.  
  
Gathering herself quickly, she rolled her chair up to her desk and lifted the receiver. "Agent Spade."  
  
Thinking the call might be personal, Jack rose, pausing only when Samantha placed a restraining hand on his arm. A quick shake of her head, and he subsided back into his former position, his hands gripping the edge of her desk on either side of him. He watched quietly while she asked questions and made notes.  
  
He liked watching her.  
  
Phone back in its cradle, Samantha twisted to one side and looked up at him. Tapping her notes with her pen, she said, "Looks like the father has gone missing, too. The Murray Smith registered at the Delta just showed up, and he isn't ours. New Orleans police did a check of the other hotels and came up empty. Our Murray Smith definitely wasn't staying where he told his family he was last night." She frowned. "We'll have to check the phone company to see where that call was made from. And we'll have to check flight records. It may be that the last we know of him is when he left his house Monday morning."  
  
Jack did some calculations. "Today's Tuesday. Shelly went missing today, fourteen hours ago, give or take. Father last heard from by phone Monday evening from point now unknown. If he didn't go to New Orleans, Shelly's disappearance may have something to do with him."  
  
"Why would he take his own daughter?" she objected. "Nothing we've seen so far indicates there'd be a reason for that. I don't see the point." In spite of her words, however, Samantha felt a glimmer of hope stir. If the father had taken her, chances were she was alive.  
  
Jack shrugged. "I don't know, but it's too much of a coincidence to ignore."  
  
She nodded, then rose and walked over to examine the frustratingly empty white board.  
  
An eight by school photo of Shelly Smith smiled down at her. Twelve years old; attended grade 7 at Fredrick Douglas Academy. Mother: Monica, aged thirty, a stay at home mother, Father: Murray, aged forty-five, owner of a small software company. Freckle-faced, with thick wavy reddish-blond hair, her features showed an emerging beauty that in a few years would entrance every teenage boy within miles. At 8:20 a.m., Shelly had left home for school and disappeared. And, after hours of questioning and investigation, that was the last they knew about her movements.  
  
Samantha did know other things, of course: at 9:15 a.m., the school's safe arrival program had alerted the mother that her daughter had not arrived at school. By 10:30 a.m., after phoning around to all Shelly's friends' homes, Monica Smith had contacted the police. By 2:30 p.m., the police had made preliminary contact with the FBI's Missing Persons department. By 3:30 p.m., Martin and Danny had begun the routine of interviewing the mother, examining the girl's room and talking to her friends.  
  
A side note on the board said the father was on a business trip and had not yet been contacted.  
  
She erased the notation and filled in the latest: father's location unknown.  
  
Crossing her arms, she frowned.  
  
"Looks like you got your reason not to leave."  
  
Jack had silently walked up behind her. His voice came from a spot within her personal space, but not so close that they would appear inappropriate. Still, she felt a familiar, soft tremor run through her in response to his nearness.  
  
She turned, smiling slightly. Resisting the impulse to reach out and touch him, she said. "I'll check the airlines and the credit cards."  
  
Jack nodded and moved with her, heading towards his office. "I'll have a look at his bank records and find out where that phone call to his wife was made from. Let me know what you find." He thought about the interview with the mother and the impression that had been given. "Guess all is not as perfect as she wanted us to think."  
  
Samantha raised one elegant eyebrow. "It never is," she said softly. Sitting down, she reached towards her computer and began to delve into Murray Smith's spending and travel habits.  
  
Two hours later, Jack looked up as Samantha paused in his doorway. Her straight, shoulder-length hair was now pulled back into a tight ponytail - she kept, he knew, an endless supply of elastics in her top desk drawer for this purpose. As always, a few recalitrant strands fell down to to touch her jaw. The look she threw him told him she was more than a little frustrated.  
  
"No luck?"  
  
Bypassing the chairs set in front of his desk, she came around beside him. Placing a sheaf of papers on his blotter, she turned to sit on the edge of his desk. "Nothing. Nada. Zilch," she reported, grasping the edge of the desk tightly. "Last travel ticket purchased eight days ago was a two day trip to Detroit, which he used. Got back last Wednesday. Spent two hundred and thirty dollars at a men's store in a mall near his home on Saturday. Put gas in his car on Sunday."  
  
Jack leaned back in his chair. "The phone call he made to his family Monday night was from a pay phone in Queens. We'll work on that tomorrow. The most cash he's withdrawn from his bank account at a time is two hundred dollars, last Sunday. That wouldn't get him far. I checked back over the last twelve months; he takes out a couple hundred in cash fairly regularly - twice a month or so - but he'd have to be awfully careful to make it add up to anything."  
  
Samantha didn't look excited by the information. "That's pocket change. It certainly wouldn't support a getaway with a child."  
  
Jack agreed.  
  
"Maybe he's seeing someone," she offered. "Maybe the business trip was a cover story for a romantic getaway."  
  
"To where?" Gesturing towards the credit card records, he added, "He isn't using his cards to stay anywhere."  
  
"So the woman's local. He's at her place."  
  
"His wife and their neighbours didn't indicate there was a problem."  
  
Samantha shrugged. "It's easy to keep things from the neighbours. And maybe the wife doesn't know there's a problem - or maybe she just doesn't want to admit to one. Regardless, we've got to find him."  
  
"We'll talk to the mother tomor-" Jack stopped himself and checked his watch. "Later today," he amended. "I'm sending you home now. You're officially through for the night. Leave now, and you'll get a few hours sleep, at least."  
  
"What about you?"  
  
He lifted a shoulder and let it drop. "I'll leave in a half hour or so."  
  
Understanding the need for time between their departures and hating it, she nodded. "Okay, then." Pushing herself easily away from his desk, she had more difficulty pushing away the memories of their leaving together, and of where they went and what they did...  
  
"See you tomorrow," she said quietly, the shadows of their past hovering in the air around her.  
  
He nodded, then looked over at his computer screen to stop himself from watching her walk away.  
  
End Chapter 1 


	2. What's Needed Chapter 2

What's Needed Chapter 2  
  
-23 HOURS MISSING  
  
Martin Fitgerald looked up as Danny Taylor, Vivian Johnson, and Samantha Spade filed in to take their places at the conference table. "The father's missing?" he asked, his blue eyes following Samantha as she sat down.  
  
She nodded, from her position opposite him and next to the head of the table. "Got the call last night. The New Orleans police reported that a Murray Smith did show up at the hotel, but, as fate would have it, he wasn't the one we're looking for." She watched Jack arrive. Not missing a beat, she continued to speak while her eyes followed him to the head of the table. "As far as we can tell," she said, "he didn't fly out on the plane his wife believed he was booked on." Returning her gaze to Martin, she finished up, "We haven't been able to trace him past his leaving the house on Monday morning. He just dropped out of sight."  
  
"Except for the 9:00 p.m. phone call he made to his wife Monday night: we traced that to a pay phone on Parsons Boulevard, near the 25A," Jack interjected.  
  
Settling into his chair, he glanced quickly around the table at his team. Stopping when he got to Samantha, he asked, "You filled them in on everything?"  
  
"The highlights."  
  
Jack nodded. "Okay. Well, as expected, there's been no ransom request, no further insights as to where Shelly might be. Her father: ditto. He dropped out of sight Monday morning, but phoned as usual to announce his safe arrival and promised to phone on Thursday. He said he'd be returning on the 5:45 flight from New Orleans. No flights are booked in his name, there are no charges for a flight on his credit card. So now its two people, not one, we're looking for."  
  
"They're together?" Vivian asked.  
  
"At this point, we don't really know. It's a possibility."  
  
He looked at Danny and Martin. "I want you two to go out and talk to Mrs. Smith again. See if you can find a reason Mr. Smith isn't where he should be. She hasn't been told he's not in New Orleans, so use that element of surprise. Keep up the Shelly end of things, but I want as much information on the father as you can get."  
  
"Maybe he decided to split and took the daughter with him," Martin suggested.  
  
"That's one theory. It'd certainly take care of the bother of a custody battle," Jack said, "but as far as we can tell he hasn't made the financial preparations you'd expect. And no one's mentioned the marriage having troubles."  
  
Martin shrugged. "We'll see what the wife has to say once she hears hubby's not where she thinks he is."  
  
Nodding, Jack dismissed Martin and Danny with a wave of his hand. "You two might as well get started. Talk to the mother, then see if you can find out anything more on Shelly. Visit the school again and talk to her teachers and classmates. There has to be something we're missing; see if you can find it. Keep in touch."  
  
The two rose and left.  
  
"Do you really suspect the father?" asked Vivian, her dark brow furrowed.  
  
"There's a chance he took her, but like I said, looking at his bank records, I'd guess no - not that guesses are worth much these days."  
  
Vivian shook her head. "The mother must be frantic - daughter missing, husband still hasn't contacted her; it's going to be a blow to hear he's actually missing," she said.  
  
"Benson from victim services has someone stay with her last night. Danny said yesterday she had a friend coming to stay, too," Jack said. "She'll do as well as we can expect, I guess. Hopefully, whoever it is will still be there. What I need you to do," he continued, "is to start checking the father's work place - co-workers, gossip - you know the drill."  
  
Vivian rose. "Sure do." With a smile at Samantha, she left.  
  
After Vivian's departure, Samantha sat quietly. Some of her surprise showed, making Jack smile inwardly. Infinitely patient in some things, he knew she'd sit there wordlessly until he told her what she already knew: she'd be working with him, checking out Murray's parents, siblings, and friends.  
  
It would be the first time they'd worked together since the book store fiasco. Vulnerabilities had surfaced then that had frightened them both and made others sit up and take notice of things had both tried hard to make sure that they didn't. He'd kept things low key since then, but enough time had passed - and he missed working with her enough - that it seemed the right time to at least try to regain their old professional footing.  
  
He told her the day's agenda. When he was finished, she asked quietly, "Is this wise, Jack?"  
  
"It's time, don't you think?"  
  
She felt herself relax under his steady gaze. She did indeed. Nodding, she planted her hands on the top of the desk. "So, we're starting with Murray's parents, right?" When he nodded, she smiled. "Let's go,then." Rising, she walked to her desk to gather up what she needed. It felt good - very, very good - to be heading out with him again.  
  
* * *  
  
Ushered into the small but tidy living area of Jeff and Caroline Smith's third floor apartment, Samantha and Jack had refused the offered cup of coffee, had learned that this was not the family home, but a recent downsizing, and that it was not too far from their old community and friends. "Too much to clean in the old place," Murray's mother had said, her eyes worried that they were here to tell her something she wasn't prepared to hear.  
  
Their surprise when told that their son was missing was unmistakeable. Stunned, they sat side by side, a couple in their mid-seventies who had grown old together, their looks and personalities somehow blending until one seemed interchangeable with the other.  
  
"We don't understand," Caroline Smith said for the fourth time - speaking, as she had since their arrival, for both herself and her husband.  
  
"He travels a lot," the husband interjected while his wife nodded in agreement. "Monica and little Shelly are used to it. He always phones when he's away - you said he phoned Monday night. I'm sure there's a mistake."  
  
"He'll call on Thursday, just like he said he would," Caroline Smith added. "You just wait and see. He's a good son, a good husband and father." She glanced at her husband. "There's got to be a logical explanation. He wouldn't just up and leave."  
  
"What about his marriage? Is he happy?" Samantha asked. "Might he have taken Shelly somewhere? Decide to up and make a go of it somewhere else with her?"  
  
Jeff Smith frowned. "You don't kidnap your own child. Why would he do that? And he has a business to run; he can't just leave everything."  
  
Caroline rose and went to get a wedding photograph from the mantle. Bringing it over to them, she said, "The marriage has been a wonderful success." Passing the photograph to Jack, she added, "We were worried at first, with their being such a big age difference. Monica was preparing to metriculate when they got engaged, though we always said she looked barely old enough to be out of grade school! Things have been good for them, though. He adores Monica and Shelly." Her face clouded over as she sat down again. "He's going to be sick, just sick, when he comes home and finds out Shelly's gone missing."  
  
"What about you, Mr. Smith?" Jack asked. Glancing at the photo, he passed it to Samantha. "Have you seen anything to make you think your son might be unhappy, or thinking of changing his life somehow?"  
  
Jeff ran a wrinkled hand over his balding head. "No," he said slowly, his long face worried, "can't say that I can. They are just an ordinary couple, an ordinary family."  
  
Jack and Samantha glanced at one another. An ordinary family that had had two people disappear from it within two days. Samantha placed the wedding photo on the coffee table in front of her. "I understand you have a daughter, as well," she said, drawing her eyes away from the photo and looking at the couple on the sofa. "Are your two children close?" she asked, trying for another angle.  
  
A shadow crossed the older couple's faces. "No," Murray's father said, shaking his head. "Rebecca is a lot younger than Murray. There's an almost nine year difference between them. They were real close when Rebecca was younger, but they kinda drifted apart, I guess, when she got older. I don't think she'd be able to help you much. It'd be more of a waste of your time than anything."  
  
Their daughter, Rebecca, Mrs. Smith told them, didn't have time to visit often. They had hardly, she said, seen her since she'd moved out after finishing high school. Rebecca had gone off to college, got a job in another state, and that was that. They sometimes saw her at Christmas, the father offered.  
  
Once they had given the name of Rebecca's employer, and her address and phone number, there seemed little more information about their daughter they could give. Believing they'd learned all they could, the two agents signalled it was time to go.  
  
Walking towards the car, Samantha shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her trenchcoat and commented, "Ordinary people leading ordinary lives."  
  
"They weren't too excited about our wanting to talk to their daughter, were they?"  
  
Samantha paused thoughtfully while Jack unlocked the car. "It'll be interesting to meet her. She doesn't seem to fit the picture, somehow."  
  
"We're heading for Tampa, are we?" Jack asked over the roof of the car.  
  
She raised an eyebrow at him. "You knew that the minute they said where she lived."  
  
Jack grinned and slid into his seat. In minutes, he was steering their car smoothly out into morning traffic. Having made the trip to Tampa before, he glanced at the clock on the dash and made some quick calculations. If the caught the 11:15 flight out of La Guardia, they could interview Rebecca Smith and catch a 6:00 p.m. flight back. It'd be tight, but they could make it. "If we want to get there and back today, we'd better move."  
  
She nodded. The days when a trip like this was an acceptable excuse for an overnight stay together were, regretfully, over.  
  
* * *  
  
Rebecca worked for a small import company. When Samantha phoned ahead to make sure she was there, she was told by a pleasant gentleman with a slight German accent that Rebecca was taking a lieu day, and that they would likely find her at home.  
  
"I think we'll just drop over," Jack said. "An element of surprise never hurts, and if she's not there, she's not there. At least we'll be where we can talk to her neighbours."  
  
Samantha nodded and got out the map to help direct him to Rebecca's home.  
  
The slender woman who opened the door of the neat Tampa bungalo could have been Shelly herself, twenty years from now. Curly reddish blond hair framed a delicately boned face; a light smattering of pale freckles dotted her lightly tanned features. Large green eyes, however, rather than Shelly's deep blue ones regarded them curiously.  
  
"Rebecca Smith?" asked Jack.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"I'm Agent Jack Malone, and this is Agent Samantha Spade. We're from the FBI and would like to ask you a few questions, if we may."  
  
She looked concerned. "You've learned something more about Shelly?"  
  
"Actually, we're here to investigate the disappearance of your brother," Jack told her, observing her closely.  
  
"Murray? What are you talking about? He's missing?"  
  
Her surprise was genuine. Samantha and Jack shared a glance. She hadn't known. No one had thought to phone and tell her.  
  
"It appears so," Jack said. "May we come in?"  
  
Still taking in the turn of events, Rebecca looked at them blankly. Recovering, she said, "Yes, yes, of course. Come in." With a gesture, she indicated they should have a seat in the comfortably furnished living area just to the right of the home's entrance. "You're fortunate you found me here. I'm usually on the road, but I'm taking a lieu day today. Please, sit down. I'll just go turn off the stove. Can I get you anything to drink? I can make coffee."  
  
Samantha nodded, noting that she seemed in no rush to find out about her brother's circumstances. "If you don't mind," she said politely, "I could really do with a drink of water."  
  
With Rebecca occupied at the back of the house for a few extra minutes, Samantha and Jack took the opportunity to look at the framed photographs scattered around the small, sunlit room. A sofa table set in front of the curtained bow window held several; there were four or five more on the painted mantle of the faux fireplace to their left, and a side board along the far wall held several more. Groups of smaller pictures stood on each of the sofa's two glass-topped end tables. Moving to stand by the mantle, Samantha examined the pictures there and then turned to Jack. "Here's one of Shelly. Don't know the woman she's with, though."  
  
Jack took a look at the two smiling faces. The picture was obviously taken at a fair of some sort: he could see a ferris wheel in the background, and Shelly held a rediculous looking stuffed pink dog with a red ribbon tied around its neck. A dark haired woman hugged her with one arm. They looked very happy. Glancing at the other photos on the mantle, he indicated another picture. "Same woman, I think. This one," he said, picking up the picture, "looks like it was taken when she was in high school, though. Rebecca's with her."  
  
Samantha looked and nodded. Glancing around, she noted, "There are pictures of Rebecca with other people: this guy in particular" she said, gesturing towards a shot of Rebecca with a tall, smiling blonde man, casually draping his arm over her shoulder, "but none of her brother or parents. That's-"  
  
Her quiet observation was cut short. "People keep sending me pictures. I never know quite what to do with them," Rebecca commented as she crossed the room and passed Samantha a tall glass of ice water.  
  
Samantha smiled her thanks as she reached for the drink and said, "Framing them and putting them around seems to work. I'm sorry that we arrived at a bad time," she added, gesturing towards the kitchen, from which the fragrant scent of tomato and spice emanated.  
  
"That's okay. It'll keep," Rebecca said. Gesturing them towards the sofa, she asked, "Is there any word on Shelly? I haven't slept since my parents told me. I'd have flown up, but there didn't seem to be anything I could do."  
  
"Is your family close, then?" she asked.  
  
"No, not really," she replied with a little shake of her head. "Monica - that's Shelly's mother - and I have met only a couple of times. I didn't make it to the wedding when she and Murray got married. For the most part, I keep up on Shelly through my friend, Nancy. She's the dark haired woman in that picture," she told them, nodding her head towards the framed picture they had examined earlier.  
  
"So you don't see Shelly often?"  
  
"No, I'm a little too far away for that, I'm afraid. Fortunately, Nancy keeps me posted."  
  
"She's a friend of the family?" asked Samantha.  
  
"A friend of mine: best friend, since grade school." Smiling, she continued, "She lives in Boston, now, but travels into New York a couple times a month. She got into the habit of dropping in to see how Shelly was doing after I asked her to drop off a present for Shelly's fifth birthday. Nancy and Monica hit it off, and that worked out great."  
  
"You don't contact them yourself?"  
  
"Not often. Christmas, mostly. I'm too far away. Work keeps me busy. You know how it is." Neither agent was certain they did just yet, but they nodded.  
  
"So you can't offer any ideas as to where your brother might be?"  
  
"No idea, I'm afraid."  
  
"When was the last time you spoke to him?"  
  
"Last Christmas. I flew home. First time in three years or so. Murray and I have never been close. My parents and I..." she shrugged. "We live different lives, see things differently." She looked at first one, then the other, agent. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help. I'm sure he'll turn up. I really think it's Shelly's disappearance you should be concentrating on."  
  
On their way back to the airport, Samantha settled more comfortably into the passenger seat of their rental and commented, "She wasn't too concerned about the brother, was she? And it's interesting that her parents claim she and Murray were close at one time, but she says they never were."  
  
"Something tells me we'll have to talk to her again. I don't get the feeling she's telling us all she could," Jack said. The white Malibu he drove surged forward as his foot pressed on the accellerator. He felt pressured to make their flight and resented both the pressure and the reason for it. "We need to check where she was the morning Shelly disappeared. There's something strange about her reaction to her brother's disappearance." Seeing their exit to the airport, he flicked on his signal indicator and quickly changed lanes.  
  
Samantha looked at him thoughtfully, then nodded. It was a possibility, she supposed. Better to check than not. Something else was nagging her, though: her brow furrowed, she wondered aloud, "She's worried about a niece she's rarely met, but not her brother. Doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?"  
  
"Maybe she finds it easier to express emotion for someone she doesn't care as much about. Or maybe she's acting: maybe she knows where Shelly is. Shelly could have been twenty feet away, for all we know," Jack said, continuing his line of treating her as a possible suspect. "There's something wrong here somewhere. Look at how little contact she maintains with her family. She talks as though living in Tampa is like living in Tibet."  
  
"Exactly," Samantha nodded. "She uses a three hour flight as an insurmountable distance so that she doesn't have to see them. That's not natural. Nor is keeping tabs on a niece she rarely sees but never contacting the rest of the family."  
  
Jack turned the car into the rental drop off area. "She didn't say it, but I don't think there's any love lost between her and her brother."  
  
"My guess is she hates him," Samantha said cryptically.  
  
Jack stopped the car and undid his seatbelt before responding. Turning to look at her more fully, he said, "That's a bit strong, isn't it?"  
  
She shook her head. "I don't think so. We'll see. Her parents didn't talk much about the two of them, only about Murray. They were definitely uncomfortable about our coming down to talk to her. There's something we're still not getting."  
  
Jack looked at his watch. "It's been thirty-three hours," he said, referring to the length of time Shelly had been missing. "Whatever it is, we'd better get it fast. We're running out of time."  
  
-37 HOURS MISSING  
  
In spite of how late it was, the whole team still sat around the conference table on the 23rd floor, watching Danny draw lines and make notations on the white board with a black felt tip marker.  
  
Standing back, he commented, "That's it on Shelly. A classmate saw her about one block from school. The girl - her name is Sarah Turner - says she lost sight of her when she had to stop into a house to pick up a younger child she walks to school. When she came out, Shelly wasn't in sight. She didn't think anything of it; just figured she had turned the corner already." He turned to draw his conclusions. "I think Shelly knew who picked her up," he said, putting the cover onto his marker with a click. "Convincing her to get into a stranger's car would have taken time and the friend would have been back out on the street and seen it. A snatch and run would have been almost impossible - there were too many people around that time of day not to notice a commotion."  
  
"But not so many that no one can remember seeing her get into a car?" Vivian asked.  
  
Danny shrugged. "People don't always notice what doesn't call attention."  
  
"What did you get from Monica Smith the second time around?" Jack asked.  
  
Martin spoke up: "Not quite the happy homelife originally depicted. Now that hubby's on the MIA list, she's being a little more honest about things. She was totally shocked that the father wasn't where she thought he was, though. She said she wasn't too concerned when he didn't contact her last night, since he sometimes doesn't get in until very late and wouldn't have got the message about Shelly until he showed up. She started worrying more when it got closer to dawn. She couldn't say what she thought he'd be doing until the wee hours when he was away on business, but that's the story she gave. On the home front, the friend who stayed with her last night was on his way out the door when we arrived. He's a very good friend, if you catch my drift. She admitted as much after we talked a bit. We've got his name and particulars. We're checking him out now."  
  
Danny added, "She assures us that the daughter knows nothing about her affair and doesn't think that even if she did it would be a reason for her daughter to take off. She said Shelly was the kind of girl who talked things out. The mother is certain she'd have asked questions before reaching a conclusion and taking off. Her friends and teachers seem to agree with that."  
  
"Maybe, maybe not," Jack said. "Kids that age aren't always predictable in how they react to things - and they're definitely not stupid. She might have figured it out and decided to keep it to herself." Jack looked at his notes, then back up at Danny and Martin. "Did you learn anything else about Shelly's frame of mind?"  
  
"Just the regular almost-teenager stuff. Nothing to indicate there was a reason for her to take off."  
  
Moving the briefing along, Jack turned to Vivian. "The father," Jack said, "What did you find out?"  
  
"For reasons unknown, the dispatcher screwed up and didn't record where Murray was dropped off. The cabbie who took him," she said, looking down at her notes, "one Jason Freemont, is away and can't be located - nothing sinister, just that his work says he often can't be found on his day off - they think he's got a woman up north somewhere. He's expected at work tomorrow, though, so I'll be lying in wait to see if he remembers."  
  
Malone nodded. The picture was evolving, the little pieces of the puzzle slowly finding their places. It was taking way too long, though. He looked at the group. "If Murray didn't leave the city, where did he go?"  
  
"We're working on it," Danny said. "No one saw anything around the pay phone he made the call from on Monday. Vivian helped us match the trips out of town he told his wife he was on against his out of town work expenses. Once or twice a month, for a night or two each time, he said he was away when he didn't charge anything to the company."  
  
"So where does he go?" Jack asked.  
  
Martin shook his head. "There are no hotel bills, no nothing to indicate he's anywhere but at home."  
  
Jack frowned. "He's got to be somewhere, and he has to get there somehow. You and Danny get to work on it. Someone somewhere has seen him."  
  
"What about the sister? Did she say anything?" Vivian asked.  
  
"Not much. There's something we're not being told, but God knows what it is and if it would help us even if we knew."  
  
"She's estranged from the family," Samantha explained, "though she wouldn't put it that way herself." She described what they'd encountered in Tampa, finishing by saying that they'd investigated her whereabouts the morning of Shelly's disappearance and found that she was undoubtedly at work in Tampa. Two clients had confirmed that she had made sales calls.  
  
When she finished, Jack said, "We're going down to talk to her again. I'm hoping she'll be like the wife and open up a bit more the second go around."  
  
Vivian noticed the time. "Sorry, guys," she said, slowly standing up to leave. "I've gotta run. My sitter turns into a pumpkin at midnight. I'll be sitting on the doorstep of the taxi company first thing tomorrow morning, though. I'll let you know what happens." With a wave, she was gone.  
  
Her departure signaled a move to leave by the others was well. Martin stood and asked Jack, "Will we see you tomorrow morning before you leave?"  
  
Jack shook his head. "Eight-oh-five flight out. We should be back late afternoon. I have a feeling we'll be talking to a friend of hers in Boston next. She seems to be on good terms with Shelly and her mother and may know something. At least that's a shorter flight."  
  
Ready to leave, Danny nudged Martin's arm. "We'll check the taxi stand outside Murray's office building first thing tomorrow. Maybe we'll hit it lucky."  
  
As Jack watched them go, Samantha watched him. She recognised the look on his face: he was wondering if this was one of those cases where the lost wasn't found; if this was one of those times they looked and looked and came up empty-handed and always wondered what they might have missed.  
  
"I'm going to go finish writing up my report," she said, trying to divert his attention.  
  
He turned towards her and noticed for the first time how tired and pale she looked. "We didn't have time for dinner. You need to eat."  
  
She gave him a weary smile that still managed to look beautiful to him.  
  
"God, I look that bad? You always try to make me eat when I look bad," she teased.  
  
He wanted to tell her she looked wonderful, but he had rarely allowed himself to say that sort of thing at work, and certainly couldn't now. Instead, he said, "No, you don't look bad at all. My stomach is reminding me it's gone foodless for too long. That means yours has, too - and you can't afford to miss the number of meals I can," he said with a wry grin.  
  
She smiled broadly, flashing bright, even teeth. "There were peanuts on the plane."  
  
Jack grunted. "Peanuts aren't food. I'll order something up while you get started on your report." What harm would there be, he asked himself, in sharing a missed meal together? "Work fast," he ordered over his shoulder as he walked away, "Wong's doesn't take long to deliver."  
  
Samantha hurried to finish up when she saw Jack head for the elevator to pick up their order at the reception desk. When he returned, she was pleased that he set out all the food containers on her desk. She examined the boxes as he took them out of the carry out bag, secretly satisfied he hadn't needed to ask her what she liked. This impromptu meal with him made her happy: she missed him, and spending the day with him had brought home just how much. She missed the conversation and warm companionship that had led to more than they should have allowed - and which, once allowed, had been so wretchedly hard to give up. She missed touching him casually, missed his staying over - and missed waking up to watch him get ready for work even more.  
  
She paused, remembering. His keeping clothes at her place had leant a sense of permanence to their affair that she had all too soon discovered was false.  
  
She looked at Jack. Though the sense of permanence had been false, the emotion that their relationship had been based on was not. Whatever they had had while involved was there still: strong, undeniable, and very much with them.  
  
She smiled to herself as she watched him choose his chopsticks. If she'd ever had the need to explain her feeling for him to someone, she knew she couldn't have. He was older, he was married, he was less buff and certainly less classically handsome than anyone she had been in a relationship with before. It didn't matter, though. He was it. He was the man no one else in her life compared to. Whatever it was between them didn't have to make sense: it just was.  
  
"Damned pheromones," she muttered under her breath.  
  
"What?" Jack asked.  
  
"Nothing," she replied, showing a flash of teeth. After reaching over for her own pair of chopsticks, she picked up a box of cashew chicken and dumped half of it into her box of rice. "I'm starved."  
  
When she was finished, she sat back, clutched her stomach, and groaned.  
  
Jack smiled. "You were greedy."  
  
"Hey, I'm sure it was you I saw finish off the beef broccoli."  
  
"True, but you ate most of the sweet and sour fish," he accused gently.  
  
"I always do."  
  
They smiled at one another, enjoying the moment.  
  
Reluctantly looking away, Jack gestured towards her computer. "Ready to print yet?"  
  
"Almost. I'm too full to think just yet, though. You'll have to give me a minute." She leaned back and closed her eyes.  
  
More than happy to give her some time, Jack leaned back in his chair. Lacing his fingers over his stomach, he regarded her steadily. As the mood shifted easily between them to something more intimate, he realised again how much he'd missed this. Here, just sitting in close proximity with her, he was happy, relaxed, complete. Here, he didn't have to try to make things work, didn't have to walk a verbal tightrope.  
  
Eyes still closed, Samantha asked him, "What are you thinking, Jack?"  
  
"I'm thinking you're like Chinese food," he said honestly.  
  
She opened her eyes at that, then nodded in understanding. With a sense of satisfaction coursing warmly through her, she looked at him steadily and said in a soft voice, "I think you are, too."  
  
It was the first time in a long time either had made reference to the emotions behing their 'situation'. They had understood that they had needed to end their affair, but here they were, a metaphorical hour later, hungry for more of what they had had and knowing they shouldn't...  
  
A wash of need swept over her and she found herself consciously willing herself not to say or do anything that would jeopardize the delicate balance they had been trying to work out between them. The past needed to remain in the past. At least for now. "Jack..." she said, her voice soft.  
  
He looked at her, his eyes dark. The moment hung in the air between them until he nodded and said, "I know," in a voice deep and gruff with emotion.  
  
A longer silence and then, with a sigh, he braced his hands on the arms of the chair and thrust himself to his feet. "I've got to go." He stood, staring at her, not wanting to leave. Finally he said, "Today felt good, Sam. Thank you."  
  
Samantha smiled up at him. "Same for me. Now go," she urged him. "I'll see you in the morning."  
  
"Yeah," he said, and turned to leave.  
  
She nodded and rolled her chair to her computer. She could feel the distance between them grow as he walked away, but the connection between them held steady.  
  
End Chapter 2 


	3. What's Needed 3

DISCLAIMER: Okay, so I forgot in chapters one and two to remind people that these characters aren't mine. In case there's any mistaken impression: they're not. Well, Jack and the WaT characters aren't. The others, I guess, are.  
  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter is a little darker that the previous two. Please remember the 'R' rating. I've tried to handle things as delicately as possible. Thanks for the reviews and encouraging comments! EOlivet, your enthusiasm and kind words alone will make me try very hard to get this story finished and posted before the long weekend! Oh: and if anyone can tell me how they manage to keep italics and spacing the way they want it to when uploading, I'd appreciate knowing how it's done. Everything always looks fine in the preview, but when it shows up on fanfiction.net, I've lost it.  
  
Needed Chapter 3  
  
-48 HOURS MISSING  
  
*On their early morning flight to Tampa, Jack had looked at his watch and noted, "Forty-eight hours."  
  
Samantha had leaned her shoulder up against his, then put a hand on his arm. "We'll find her."  
  
He'd found her touch reassuring.*  
  
Now, driving towards Rebecca Smith's home for the second time, he continued to hope she was right. The problem was, nothing about this case was going the way he wanted. The father was an easy suspect, and as of a few minutes ago, their only one. A quick call from Vivian when they'd landed had told them that the mother's boyfriend had checked out okay. They didn't seem any closer to finding Murray, though, than they were to finding Shelly. He sighed inwardly. A twelve year old, he told himself, didn't just disappear without a trace. Somewhere, somehow, they had to catch a break. For Shelly's sake, he hoped it was soon.  
  
Nodding towards an exit sign, he asked, "It's the next one, right?"  
  
"Yup," Samantha answered, "A few miles down, turn right off the exit, make a left on Collingwood, a right two streets later onto Baker Ave, and she's- "  
  
"-309 Littleton. You should call her. Tell her we'll be there in about ten minutes."  
  
Samantha did as he suggested. Putting her phone away after the call, she noted, "She still doesn't seem too happy we're back. She said something about having to get to work."  
  
"Too bad," he said, unsympathetically. "I offered to see her there and she said no. She-"  
  
Whatever he might have said was forgotten when his cell phone rang. "Damn. Could you get that?" he asked, looking over his shoulder for an opening in the fast moving traffic. "I'm gonna miss the turnoff." Undoing her seatbelt, she reached over him, moved his suit jacket aside, and unhooked the buzzing phone from his belt. Sliding back into her seat, she flipped it open and said, "Agent Spade speaking."  
  
Samantha winced and held the phone away from her ear. Jack could hear the excited cadences of Martin's voice from where he sat. His heart quickened. A break. They'd got a break. A quick move of the steering wheel and the car swerved into the exit lane, two inches behind a car with an Ontario licence plate and not many more inches in front of one from Michigan. Cursing all tourists, but thankful they'd made it, he waited impatiently a moment and then gestured that he wanted to speak to Martin himself. Samantha said goodbye and passed the phone to him wordlessly.  
  
"Well?" he asked her as he took the phone.  
  
"Let him tell you."  
  
He put the phone to his ear. "Well?" he asked again.  
  
Martin let loose another cascade of words. They'd found a cabbie who had a stand outside Murray Smith's office building who recognised Murray from the picture they showed him. Yeah, he'd said, he was almost a regular - once, sometimes twice a week, sometimes a couple nights in a row - he'd pick him up outside the building and take him across town. Did he remember where? Hell, yes. It was a good fare, and almost regular. He tipped okay, too. The cabbie had given them the address.  
  
"It's an apartment building, low income," Martin said. "Could use a good cleaning and a lot of paint; you know the sort of place: might have been half decent fifty years ago; only a few steps away from hell to live in now. We're standing across the road from it. My guess is Smith would be pretty noticeable here: it's a mostly Asian area."  
  
Jack nodded, pleased that they were making some progress. He recognised the address as being in one of the poorer Asian parts of the city. The area was charcterised by a mobile population not always in the country legally, poor living conditions, and low incomes. "Keep me posted," he instructed. "We're seeing Rebecca Smith in about..." He glanced at the digital clock in the dash of the car, "...five minutes."  
  
Pressing the 'end' button, he clipped the cell back onto his belt.  
  
They followed Rebecca's petite form into her livingroom and sat on the sofa she briskly gestured them towards. She was wearing a cream coloured blouse and a straight navy blue skirt. Her suit jacket and briefcase were beside her chair, a not-so-discreet reminder that they were keeping her from work. In spite of her apparent eagerness to leave, however, she asked, "Is there any word on Shelly? Shouldn't there have been by now?"  
  
"We're sorry. Nothing has changed," Samantha told her as she sat down.  
  
Rebecca shook her head. "Someone must have taken her: she wouldn't just up and leave without letting someone know that she was okay." She sat down on a chair upholstered in the same blue-patterned fabric as the sofa and looked at them. Spreading her hands to emphasise her confusion, she said in a slightly harder tone, "I don't understand why you've come back. I told you on the phone: I can't add anything to what I told you about my brother. This is a long way to come for nothing."  
  
Noting the impatience in her voice, Jack responded, "We're still trying to gather information. We need to be absolutely certain that there isn't anything you can tell us about him that could help us understand him or the situation better. He seems to have been leading a kind of double life: trips he's told his wife he was going on didn't happen. As far as we can tell, he didn't even leave the city on those occasions. Would you know anything about that?"  
  
Rebecca looked troubled. She thought a moment, then seemed to come to a conclusion. Shaking her head, she said, "No, I'm sorry. I can't think of why he'd do something like that. I can't help you."  
  
"Are you certain? Shelly may be with him."  
  
Again, she hesitated, but only for a moment. "Yes. Of course I am," she said with a frown. Anger crept into her voice as she continued, "I told you: I can't help you. I've had next to nothing to do with him since I left home fifteen years ago. I don't know him anymore. I don't *want* to know him anymore- I-" She winced, and looked as though she would take back that last sentence if she could. Lapsing into silence, she gazed fixedly at her hands.  
  
Letting the silence lengthen, Samantha regarded her with dark eyes. Finally, she asked softly, "Did Murray ever do anything to you, Rebecca?"  
  
Jack looked at her, surprised. A heartbeat, and he understood what she was thinking.  
  
"What do you mean?" the woman asked.  
  
"A girl grows up in an apparently happy household; she moves out as soon as she can, and as far away as she can and never looks back. She stops almost all contact with her family. She uses excuses not to visit, even though it's not so far that she couldn't." Holding the woman's gaze, Samantha insisted gently, "There's usually a very good reason for that scenario, Ms. Smith. There's usually something the girl is running away from. Something she wants to avoid remembering; something she wants to forget." She paused a moment to let her words sink in, then said, "That something is often abuse. What did he do to you?"  
  
Rebecca looked away. "Nothing," she insisted, her face tight. "I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
"I think you do," Samantha insisted softly.  
  
Refusing to meet the other woman's gaze, Rebecca rose. "I'm sorry, but this is not helping you find Shelly. Isn't she the one you should be concerned about? She's a child. Why waste your time on an adult who can look after himself? I've got to get to work. I can't help you."  
  
Walking from the house, Jack glanced sideways at her. "Wow."  
  
"Just a hunch," she said.  
  
"It certainly got a reaction. Think she's telling the tuth?"  
  
"If she is, there's still something buried there she won't talk about. I still think she was abused, though, by either her father or her brother. From her reaction to Murray's disappearance, my money's on the brother. There has to be a reason she cut herself off almost completely from her family but feels concern about a niece she hardly ever sees."  
  
The theory was at least worth entertaining. "A niece she perhaps identifies with? Because she's afraid he'll abuse Shelly the way he did her?"  
  
She nodded. "Look at his wife: you saw the wedding picture the parents showed us. The mother-in-law was right: Monica looked about 14. Perhaps that's what Murray's into. Perhaps that's why he married who he did when he did. It was his stab at a normal life, but with the benefit of satisfying his little kink. Monica's matured. She looks young for her age, but not grade school young, so he's had to go elsewhere to get his thrills."  
  
Jack frowned, pondering their conversation with Rebecca. "Then why didn't she jump on the chance to say something when I mentioned that Shelly could be with him? Wouldn't she be terrified of that thought?"  
  
Samantha shook her head helplessly. "Some abuse victims can't bring themselves to ever talk about it, no matter who else gets hurt by the person who hurt them. It's almost as though they're paralised into inaction. Or perhaps she's convinced herself Shelly isn't with him. Maybe a part of her believes he wouldn't do it to his own daughter."  
  
"Do you think she could be right?"  
  
She looked troubled. "I don't know. Maybe he wouldn't. But it's just as likely he's working on trying to set himself up sexually with her. Who knows what's going through his mind?"  
  
Jack clenched his jaw. Their visit had produced more questions than it had answers. Though he didn't like condeming a man too readily, there was something that rang true in what Sam had said. Sighing, he commented, "Let's hope Danny and Martin turn something up at that apartment building. We need to talk to the parents again. And we've got to find Murray."  
  
* * *  
  
The super of the apartment building, if he existed as anything more than the battered nameplate on an equally battered door near the entrance, was nowhere to be found, so Danny and Martin began their door-to-door search without him. Starting on the top floor of the six-storey building, they made their way, door by door, down dark hallways of scuffed lineoleum and scarred walls. The muffled sounds of crying babies and radios turned up too loud wafted towards them, borne on air filled with the smells of sweat and food and urine, and of garbage long past due to be thrown out. Occasionally, a surly looking kid in expensive running shoes would walk by. Eying the two smartly dressed agents suspiciously, they'd glance briefly at the picture of Murray they proffered, shake their heads, then continue their aimless shuffle. A mangey cat with one ear half bitten off and a tail that twisted awkwardly pressed itself up against a doorway and hissed at them sullenly when they knocked on the door it leaned upon.  
  
Their unexpected knock on the door was greeted by either silence (no one home) or a loud, usually indecipherable yelled response (which they took as a 'one moment, please'). After a wait of varying lengths, the door would slowly open, letting out all the pent up sounds and smells trapped in the apartment's shabby, but, to their surprise, often neat interior. Fear, respect, caution, and curiosity usually vied with one another in the tenants' eyes when they realised it was the FBI come calling. No matter the initial reaction, however, they would look at the picture of a roundfaced, brown-eyed man with a roman nose and thinnish lips and shake their heads regretfully.  
  
Until the third floor, where they showed Murray's picture to a short, middle aged Asian woman who, like a number of the people they had spoken to previously, seemed to know little English. The picture produced nods and gestures. Over the loud blare of a television game show, Martin pointed to the picture Danny held and asked, "You know him?"  
  
She nodded again, this time more quickly. "Yes, yes. Mur-ray."  
  
"You know where he is?"  
  
She continued to nod her neatly coiffed head, looking at them curiously. Finally, she pointed to the picture and said "Mur-ray, yes. I know Mur- ray."  
  
"We need to talk to him," Martin said. "It's important."  
  
To their surprise, she motioned them to come in, closing the door behind them firmly once they were safely inside. Taking several steps away from them, she stopped in front of a closed door. "Mur-ray, Mur-ray," she said softly, knocking on the door lightly with the back of her hand.  
  
Martin followed quickly, reached in front of her, and threw the door open. In a sparsely furnitured room, two people scrambled to sit up in a bed set against the wall opposite the door. Martin recognised the man as Murray Smith. Beside him sat a young girl.  
  
"What the hell?!" exclaimed Martin. "Danny! Get down here!"  
  
When Danny arrived, Smith was already thrusting pale, hairy legs into a pair of pants, showing a flash of bare ass as he stood to pull them up. The girl, her straight dark hair brushing her bare shoulders, remained frozen, clutching a sheet against her thin chest.  
  
"Who the fuck-" Murray began.  
  
"Murray? Murray Smith?" Martin asked.  
  
"Yeah. Who the hell are you?"  
  
"Agent Martin Fitgerald, FBI," Martin said, flipping his badge at him. "Is your daughter here, Mr. Smith? Do you know where she is?"  
  
He hoped to hell not.  
  
Murray grabbed a brown, long-sleeved shirt the older woman obligingly held out to him. Shrugging it on, he asked, "Why? What's going on?"  
  
"I could ask you the same thing," Martin said roughly. He looked over at Danny, his face filled with rage.  
  
"We're looking for your daughter," Danny said. "Do you know where she is?"  
  
Murray looked confused. "No. What are you talking about? She's in school."  
  
"We're taking you in for questioning, Mr. Smith. Your daughter has been missing since Tuesday morning. When we found out you weren't in New Orleans like you told your wife, you became part of our investigation. You have no idea where your daughter is?" he asked again, looking pointedly at the young girl in the bed.  
  
Smith shook his head. Making an obvious attempt to straighten things out, he looked over at the raven haired girl. With a touch of bluster, he said, "It's not what you think. Tam-li is 17. I've been helping them out financially, teaching them English..."  
  
"I'm sure you have, Mr. Smith. We'll be discussing those activities as well," Danny said, making no attempt to hide his disbelief. The girl, he decided, wasn't more than twelve or thirteen.  
  
"Look, I never laid a hand on her."  
  
"Who? Tam-Li, or your daughter?" Martin spat. "Get your stuff together. We're taking you in."  
  
Danny turned to the mother and daughter. "You will have to come too." From the livingroom, he could hear the game show's theme music blaring and the loud, animated voice of an announcer congratulating a winner.  
  
The young girl nodded. "Is Mur-ray okay?" she asked in a soft voice.  
  
Danny shook his head, sickened. "No, he is not okay. He is in big trouble." He wanted to tell her no man should be messing with a child her age. Wanted to tell her she should have gone to the police the first time he tried to touch her. Wanted to tell her this was wrong, wrong, wrong, and she was just a kid...  
  
The words stuck in his throat. Instead he managed gruffly: "You need to get dressed now. We'll wait outside for you."  
  
Wide-eyed, the girl nodded, still clutching the sheet, her thin shoulders hunched up near her ears.  
  
In the livingroom, Murray began to babble, trying to excuse himself over the sound of televised applause. "I didn't know," he blustered, running shaking fingers through his curly brown hair. "You know they always look younger than they are. She came on to me, how was I-"  
  
Over the blare of Don Darker awarding a skidoo to an excited ex-Marine, Martin told him to shut up.  
  
Murray didn't. "Look, can we keep my wife out of this?" he wheedled. "She doesn't need to-"  
  
"Sit down, and shut the fuck up," Martin ordered, his tone deadly.  
  
Murray did as he was told. On the television, a contestant spun a large wheel. The crowd cheered loudly. Martin strode over and stabbed the 'off' button ferociously.  
  
* * *  
  
Striding quickly through the airport with his cell phone pressed tightly to his ear, Jack ordered, "Wait. We're finished here and are on the way to the plane. We'll be there in about three hours." Not slowing his pace as he entered the departure area, he continued, "I want to be in on the interview. It won't hurt him to cool his heels a bit." He turned his cell phone off and moved to hook it back onto his belt.  
  
Samantha could see the look of controlled satisfaction on his face. "Good news?" she asked, not certain she understood the half of the conversation she'd heard.  
  
"Yes and no. I think we have some confirmation of your suspicions: they've found Murray Smith." He presented their boarding passes to a young, dark haired flight attendant. "Let's get our seats," he told Samantha, "and I'll fill you in."  
  
* * *  
  
Following Jack out of the interview room, Martin leaned his back against the wall and brought his clenched fist down against it with a thud. Jack turned to look at him and opened his mouth to speak, then stopped when his attention was drawn to a blond-headed figure walking down the corridor towards them. He waited until she was closer before asking, "What did you get, Sam?"  
  
"Mother: Li Chang. Arrived illegially with husband Su and daughter Tam-Li two years ago. Made a subsistence living until a year ago, when husband disappeared. Mother and daughter barely scraping by. They were begging on street corners when Murray Smith appeared, took a liking to the daughter, and offered money to help put a roof over their heads. Mother isn't proud of the fact that she basically ended up pimping her daughter to him, but is unrepentant. Claims 'what needed to be done was done', and says that 'Tam- li is a responsibile daughter."  
  
"And the daughter herself? What does she have to say?" Jack asked.  
  
"She's very frank about the sexual nature of her relationship with him. She says that considering their circumstances, she knew what needed to be done. It was better that than to starve - and far better, she claims, than what she would have had to do had they been deported back where they'd come from. Claims that Murray being clean was a big benefit." She stopped, shaking her head. "She said she'd seen far worse in her homeland."  
  
"Different degrees of hell," Jack murmered.  
  
"Yeah, well, one thing of note: they both say that Murray was with them in the apartment since Monday afternoon. They say he didn't leave at any point Tuesday morning-"  
  
"You believe them?" Jack interjected.  
  
Samantha nodded. "They insist he didn't leave-"  
  
Unable to hold his thoughts in any longer, Martin broke into their conversation: "No one has to do what that kid was doing to survive. Someone could have helped them: there's Social Services, if they were worried about starving; food banks-"  
  
Samantha turned. "Not for illegals worried about being sent back, there isn't. They don't know the system and are scared to use it anyway, because they're terrified of being caught and deported. They felt they had nowhere to turn and there was no one out there to tell them any different. The mother could only find occasional, poorly paid under-the-table cleaning jobs because of her status and her lack of English. That couldn't possibly bring in enough to support them. To them, the choice of what to do when Murray appeared was obvious. I doubt having a choice even entered their minds."  
  
Jack watched Samantha carefully as she spoke. Though her tone was even, he knew her well enough to recognise the veiled anger behind her words - and the pain she felt for the young girl. In spite of her outward calm and matter-of-fact demeanor, the interview had shaken her. Without thinking, he reached out and placed a hand on her arm. "We don't leave for Boston for a while, right? Why don't you take some time to see what you can do for them? There must be a few people we can call."  
  
As he had hoped, he was rewarded with a slight lightening in her features. When she held his gaze, her eyes said more than the simple 'thanks' her lips spoke. Warmed, he gave her a parting nod and she turned to leave.  
  
Still angry, Martin shook his head in disgust. "Sick son of a bitch," he said of Murray Smith. "To do something like that to a kid and then have her be grateful to you for it...God, it mades me feel dirty just being in the same room. That sort of thing shouldn't happen here."  
  
Unsurprised by the young man's reaction, Jack turned his attention back to his newest agent. "It's not something you ever get used to, but the first time is always the worst," he said. "And it does happen: more than we like to think. This kind of stuff doesn't just happen on the internet."  
  
"Can we be sure Smith didn't take Shelly? What if he messed with her, then killed her because he was afraid she'd talk? And if they're crazy enough to feel grateful to him, maybe they're crazy enough to lie for him, too." Martin asked.  
  
"Martin, don't judge them," Jack said quietly. "They're the victims. You don't know where they came from or what they've lived through. We'll have Murray take a lie detector test, but I'm pretty certain he has no idea where his daughter is. You heard Sam: the mother and the girl provided him his alibi, and she thinks they're being honest. As far as finding Shelly is concerned, we're back to square one: missing without a trace."  
  
As he said the words, Jack felt a wave of hopelessness wash over him. In an attempt to divert it, he said, "At least we aren't looking for him anymore. And Sam and I are heading for Boston to track down Rebecca's friend, Nancy Thatcher. We're hoping she may have some answers."  
  
Martin hoped so as well. He and Danny had gone back to speak to Monica about her daughter's friendship with the older woman. They'd learned that Nancy Thatcher and Shelly had been pretty close - Shelly had called her 'Aunt Nancy'. Martin said, "She mentioned that Nancy used to take her out shopping and stuff, so they spent time alone together. Maybe Shelly told her something. Still, it sounds like an awful long shot."  
  
Silently, Jack agreed, but it was all they had.  
  
"All we've done is spin our wheels," Martin said, pushing himself away from the wall, his expression one of anger and frustration.  
  
Jack stopped him before he could leave. In a low voice, he said, "Martin, today you nailed a bastard. You and Danny saved some young girls from a very sick man. The job's not done, but you've made a difference. Don't lose sight of that. And don't forget there's still someone out there you've got to concentrate on, either. Don't let this distract you: Shelly Smith needs your full attention."  
  
Martin looked at his feet a moment, then raised eyes less shadowed with defeat. "Yeah, you're right," he nodded. "Thanks. I'm going to put out that media notice we spoke about: see if there's anyone out there that saw something who hasn't stepped forward yet. I'd better get on it now." Turning, he made his way down the carpeted hallway towards the elevator.  
  
Jack turned the opposite way. Looking at his watch, he calculated how much time he had before his plane left for Boston. He had just enough time to call home and say 'hi' to his girls.  
  
End Chapter 3 


	4. What's Needed 4

Disclaimer: I still don't own them, but hey, if they want to come over and play, I'm not gonna stop 'em.  
  
Thank you very much to everyone's kind words and encouragement. Wow. What a supportive bunch you people are! MapleStreet is amazing. And, by the way, I didn't know that fanfiction.net blocked R rated stories, either. I picked R because of the nature of the content as opposed to actual graphic content. And I didn't want anyone reading the story who would be upset by the idea of Murray's sexual preferences. Did I rate it too strongly? Anyways, enough chatting. Here's the next chapter. The story's almost done...  
  
What's Needed Chapter 4  
  
Vivian had spent the morning trying to track down Nancy Thatcher. Not getting an answer at her home number, she'd phoned Nancy's place of employment. After speaking to several people, someone had finally been kind enough to tell her that Nancy had left work the previous Friday for a two month leave of absence. No one there knew where she had planned to go. Hanging up, Vivian had immediately started to phone Monica and Rebecca to see if they could tell her anything. She'd still been trying to get through to them when Jack and Samantha left for their flight to Boston.  
  
A phonecall mid flight to Vivian armed the two agents with the information that Nancy was probably not in the city and that no one, including Rebecca and Monica, knew where she'd gone.  
  
When their plane touched down, Jack and Samantha had gone straight to Nancy's home address, which took them to an older greystone building on a quiet, tree-lined street. Using the key the superintendent of the building obligingly provided them, they had let themselves in. Samantha had stood in the entryway a moment to get a feel for the place. From what she could see of the livingroom, Nancy obviously liked and could afford good quality antiques - or stunning replicas. She trailed her fingers over the top of a glass-fronted barrister's bookcase standing against a wall leading to the living area. "Nice," she said, looking around appreciatively.  
  
Jack glanced at her sideways. "I thought you were more a Danish teak sort of person."  
  
Samantha shook her head. "I've got that because it was on sale and went with the stuff I brought from home. This is nice. It looks like a home," she said, walking further into the room. She liked the warm cafe au lait colour of the walls and the dark colours of the upholstry. Gleaming mahogany side tables held framed pictures and candles and colourful nicknacks. California blinds lent a pleasant, modern feel to the otherwise traditional look of the room.  
  
Jack watched as she stood in the middle of the room. He'd heard the the wistfulness in her voice and felt a slight shimmer of surprise. He'd always thought Sam's place comfortable and welcoming. He hadn't minded the light colours of the walls and the smooth lines of the modern furniture she'd decorated with, but had to admit to a sense of satisfaction that her taste in decor ran closer to his own. Shaking his head at the foolishness of thinking it mattered, he stepped into the room behind her.  
  
After a quick preliminary tour of the apartment, Jack assigned the bedroom to Samantha, taking the kitchen and livingroom himself. Stepping onto the tiled floor of the small eat-in cooking area, he opened the refrigerator door. It was empty of perishables. A note on the kitchen counter beside the sink requested someone to please remember to water the plant in the bathroom. Nancy had ended the note with a smiley face and the word 'thanks' printed in big letters.  
  
Turning to go into the livingroom, he heard a knock on the apartment door. Glancing towards the bedroom, he moved to answer it himself. Opening the door, he was immediately confronted by a tall, attractive woman of about thirty-five. Her thick, chestnut-brown hair was pulled back from her face, and everything from the colour in her cheeks to the way she stood told him she was ready for a fight.  
  
"Can I help you?" she asked in a demanding tone, her dark green eyes narrowed suspiciously.  
  
Jack felt a strange sense of role reversal. "I'm the one answering the door, shouldn't that be my line?" he asked.  
  
"If you belonged here, yeah, but you don't. What are you doing here? Mr. Blake," she said, referring to the superintendant of the building, "says you need to take a look around. How do I know you're not stealing anything?"  
  
Jack blinked. She must have called the building superintendant when she heard them enter the apartment. Hearing Samantha move up behind him, he turned slightly to reveal her presence. "We're with the FBI," he said, drawing out his identification. "I'm Special Agent Jack Malone, and this is Special Agent Samantha Spade. We're trying to locate Nancy Thatcher. I don't suppose you know where she is?"  
  
The woman eyed his badge carefully, then said grudgingly, "Blake said you were FBI. I figured there was a chance he was hallucinating." In response to his question, she answered, "She's on vacation."  
  
"I don't suppose you know for how long?"  
  
The woman frowned, as though Jack were asking far too many questions. "She's on sort of a leave of absence, I think. She'll be gone a couple months, anyway. I'm keeping an eye on the place while she's away."  
  
"And doing an excellent job of it," Jack said dryly. "May I ask who you are?"  
  
She looked at him sternly. "I'm Dana Webster. My husband and I live next door," she said, waving vaguely to her left. "No matter what Blake said, I figured I'd better check on things. Why are you looking for Nancy, and why are you in her apartment? Don't you need a warrent or something? I know Blake wouldn't think to ask to see anything." Her tone told them all they needed to know about what she thought of poor Mr. Blake.  
  
As it happened, Mr. Blake had been very obliging and had asked no questions once he'd been shown their FBI identification. Not exactly what he should have done, but it had certainly made it easier for them. "We're here legally," Jack assured her, hoping she didn't ask to see their warrent. "When we find her, we're hoping Nancy can provide information about a young girl who's gone missing."  
  
The woman frowned, "Young girl?"  
  
Samantha stepped closer to Jack and said, "Yes. Someone she used to visit when she travelled to New York-"  
  
The woman's face cleared. "Oh, you mean Shelly. Something's happened to Shelly?" Her face clouded over again. "Nancy will be devastated. She thinks the world of that kid."  
  
Jack opened the door wider. "Would you mind coming in and answering a few questions, then? Perhaps you can tell us where Nancy is staying."  
  
Now that it appeared her friend's apartment was not being burgled and that Nancy herself was not in trouble of some sort, Dana relaxed a bit. Accepting Jack's invitation, she took a long legged step into the apartment. Shaking her head regretfully, she told him, "No, I'm sorry. She said she was just going to travel around, clear her head a bit. She hasn't said much, but I think maybe work's been stressful for her lately; she hasn't been herself. Anyway, she said that she was just going to play it by ear and go where the spirit moved her."  
  
"She do that often?" Jack asked, following Dana into the livingroom and watching as the woman sat down in one of the comfortable, deep-cushioned chairs that sat opposite the sofa. "Does she often just take up and leave with no destination in mind?"  
  
"No, not really," the woman answered. "As I said, she hasn't been herself lately. She's had things on her mind. She's really a very methodical person, very detailed. Any time she's gone before I've had phone numbers, locations, dates, you name it. This time, nothing. My guess was that she didn't want work to be able to track her down and bother her. They usually do that a few times when she goes away. She said she wasn't even going to take her cell phone. That way, she figured she'd get a real break."  
  
Samantha nodded. Nancy's cell phone sat on her bedside table in its recharger.  
  
"Does she have family she might have told where she was going?" Jack asked, sitting on the edge of the sofa beside Samantha.  
  
Dana shook her head. "Her father died when she was in her teens, and her mother passed away about a year ago. She's an only child. I don't think she has anyone else. You can try work, maybe. And the people down at the women's shelter on Spears where she volunteers. Someone there might know something." "No boyfriend, close girlfriend?"  
  
Dana responded with a shake of her head. "No boyfriend for a while now. I think she'd decided to lay off romance for a bit after the last bozo let her down bad. Her best friend lives in Florida somewhere. I don't remember her name."  
  
After several more questions that got them little information, they thanked the woman for her help and guided her to the door.  
  
"If you wouldn't mind calling us if she contacts you?" Samantha asked, giving her a card.  
  
Dana took it and nodded. Before leaving she told Samantha, "Make sure he locks up okay."  
  
Samantha smiled and promised she would.  
  
While Samantha was seeing Dana Webster out, Jack flipped open his cell phone and called Vivian. "Nancy Thatcher has dropped out of sight. I want to find her. Check the airlines and the border. Have Danny take some time to check her credit cards and look at her bank records. Tell Martin to keep concentrating on the Jungs case. Has anything turned up there?" He listened for a few moments as Vivian filled him in. "Okay, then. Tell him to phone me after he's talked to the gas station attendant. Samantha and I are heading for a women's shelter where Nancy volunteered. She may have said something about where she was going to someone there." After asking Vivian to change their return flight to the latest one possible, he hung up.  
  
They finished searching the apartment and Nancy's computer, finding little of use except a receipt for rent paid in advance that confirmed what they already knew: Nancy didn't plan to be back for two months. When they left, Jack checked the door to make sure it had locked behind them and then suggested they grab something to eat. . .  
  
* * * . . They stepped into the first small diner they came across. The place claimed to have been in business since 1934, and Jack strongly suspected that the tables, linoleum, and dirt in the corners were all original. There was seventy years of built up cigarette smoke on the walls, and you could barely see the pictures hung on them for the grime on the glass that protected them from the grease that coated their frames. He looked around, loving the place immediately. The food was bound to be great here. Slumping back in the cracked seat of the booth they had selected, he pushed his legs straight out in front of him and asked, "What the hell's going on? Everyone connected to this case disappears."  
  
"Don't take it so personal. It's what keeps us in business, Jack."  
  
He relaxed a little more and smiled. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. It'd be sad to miss out on all the adventure.  
  
"And the travel to exotic places," smiled Samantha, glancing around at their surroundings.  
  
"And the company," he said, catching her eyes with his.  
  
She held his gaze and nodded slightly. "And the company," she echoed, warmly.  
  
When a waitress appeared out of nowhere and asked if they'd like a menu, they both looked up in a slightly dazed manner. Recovering quickly, they both ordered the day's special. Once that was done, Samantha left the quicksand of their earlier conversation and said, "Technically, Nancy hasn't disappeared. She's just on vacation - one that she had planned for several weeks by the looks of it. She may have made herself hard to find on purpose, but that wasn't to spite you, Jack. It was so she could spend some mindless time with no deadlines, no structure. Think about it: she was stressed, didn't want to be bothered by work, so she didn't tell anyone what she planned. She was hardly likely to have expected the FBI to come knocking at her door asking questions about a missing girl while she was away."  
  
"You're trying to be reasonable," Jack said in a disgruntled tone. "Don't be reasonable. I don't feel like reasonable. i want to find Nancy Thatcher and find out what she knows."  
  
She smiled at him fondly. "There has to be something we're missing. Perhaps I should have been the one to interview the mother," she suggested.  
  
Jack shook his head. "That was for Danny and Martin this time around, and they've done a good job. They don't think finding out about the affair would have made her run, and I tend to agree. Her father making a pass at her definitely might, though. The problem is, she's been gone more than forty-eight hours, and we haven't heard anything or picked up any leads that look promising. That's not a good sign."  
  
"So we keep looking for Nancy."  
  
"Yup. 'Aunt Nancy' may know something. It's all we've got at the moment." He looked at her in silence, caught a fleeting glimpse of something in her expression, and waited. When she didn't speak, he asked in a low tone, "What is it, Sam?"  
  
Keeping her eyes lowered, she put her hands on the table in front of her while she quickly mulled the thought that had occurred to her around in her brain. With Jack waiting patiently, she thought a while longer, then said slowly, "Now that we know what we know about Murray, what if he did abuse Rebecca? And what if Nancy knew about it?"  
  
Jack saw where she was going immediately. "You think Nancy Thatcher sized up the situation and decided Shelly needed to be taken out of it."  
  
"I'm considering the possibility. And if that is so, there's a good chance Shelly went willingly - we've heard more than once about how well she and Nancy got along." She began to speak more quickly as she gained confidence in her idea. "If Murray made some sort of advance, Nancy might have been the adult Shelly chose to tell. And she may have been only too glad to leave. It would help explain why no one noticed her being picked up. They may have arranged something. There certainly wouldn't have been a stuggle."  
  
"I know all the reasons why the victim might not go to the police, but if you're right, why wouldn't Nancy?"  
  
Samantha shrugged and moved her hands expressively. "What did she have to tell them? That Shelly's reaching the age her father finds most sexually attractive? That as far as she knows, he abused his sister? What proof does she have? Shelly wouldn't be likely to say anything, and Rebecca won't even admit it even now - not even to help save her niece."  
  
"So she takes her friend's kid? Why wouldn't she say something to Monica?"  
  
"Maybe she tried. I don't know. I just have a feeling..."  
  
"And if your scenario is right, how long does the think she can get away with it?"  
  
"We can ask her when we find her."  
  
Jack nodded. If this played out the way Sam saw it, it was likely that when they found Nancy, they'd find Shelly, safe and sound. He mulled the idea over in his head and found he liked it. Finally, his day held a little hope. How hard, after all, could it be to find the office manager of an investment company travelling with a twelve year old?  
  
End Chapter 4 


	5. What's Needed 5

This is it: this is finally the end. It's not quite the ending I'd like it to be, but it's what happened. I DO lurk around Maple Street, and I thank you VERY much for all the kind words and encouragement you guys give. You're wonderful.  
  
Disclaimer: see chapter 4.  
  
Chapter 5  
  
-10 DAYS Missing  
  
Finding Nancy Thatcher proved more difficult than any of the team had anticipated. Dana Webster had said that Nancy was methodical and organized; when it came to making herself scarce, it was obviously true. The woman had withdrawn eight thousand dollars in cash from her savings shortly before she'd disappeared. Using the cash rather than her credit cards made her extremely difficult to trace.  
  
Details on Nancy and Shelly, and a description of Nancy's blue 1999 convertible Mustang and its licence plate number had been passed on to police forces nation-wide. As Martin said, though, finding someone that way was always a bit of a skeet shoot - a little more hit and miss than they'd have liked. Samantha continued to check daily for credit card activity, just in case. Nothing - not even a phone call, however, had provided them with a lead they could work on.  
  
Shelly and Nancy were not their only concern, though. The team still regularly revisited the case, but after ten days with no new leads, other cases had taken their attention. Thus it was that Jack Malone's mind was on their latest missing person as he strode purposefully into his office, sat down at his desk, and dialed in for his voice mail. He listened, casually taking notes. On the third message, he sat up and began to write with more animation, his pen making harsh scraping noises as it rushed across the notepad. Disconnecting after the voice finished, he then lifted the receiver and punched in a phone number. Following the usual switchboard maneuverings, he was put through to a Lieutenant Henninger of the Kissamee Police Force. After speaking with him briefly, Jack made one more call, which he ended with a hurried, "We'll worry about that later. Book whatever you can and leave a message here to let me know what you find."  
  
That done, he left his office in search of Samantha.  
  
He found her at her desk. "Danny and Martin are out working the Ricardo case, so you're the first to know," he said, walking up behind her. As Samantha pushed her chair away from her desk and turned to look up at him, he told her, "Nancy Thatcher is in Florida. She has a girl with her matching Shelly's description. Want to take another plane ride?"  
  
She smiled her happy surprise. "You know I do." She looked at her desk. "I'll have to square things up with Vivian. Are they in custody?" she asked, gathering up some papers.  
  
"No. She and Shelly are staying at a motel in Kissamme. I told the police to just keep an eye on them; Shelly's in no danger and I'd like to talk to them before they do the police and flashing lights thing. After that, the Kissamee police can do what they need to do." Glancing at his watch, he told her, "You've got twenty minutes before we have to leave for the airport; we're catching the 10:25. I booked us already."  
  
* * *  
  
Little more than four hours later, they drove into the parking lot of the Sunset Motel where police had told them Nancy and Shelly were staying. It was your typical stucco sided, two story motel, but with a difference: in homage no doubt to its name, the motel had been painted a pale blue and sported burgundy doors and orange trim around the windows. Yellow shutters adorned the top floor windows. Metal railing were painted red. All the colours of sunset were there, but it was one nightmare of a one.  
  
Resisting the urge to comment on the colour scheme, Samantha looked around the parking lot for Nancy's blue mustang and commented, "They must still be at the water park." Nancy and Shelly had gone to one, the police had informed them, early that morning. A watch was being kept on their car.  
  
"Let's go check the front desk," Jack said, opening his car door.  
  
They quickly ascertained from the gum-chewing young woman sitting behind the reception desk that Nancy had booked and paid for the next two nights. A quick flip of their badges allowed them a look into the room, which confirmed that their luggage was still there. Safe in the assumption that their quarry would be returning, they walked back to their car to wait.  
  
At 3:00 p.m., a blue mustang convertible with its top down entered the parking lot and smoothly pulled into an empty space in front of Room 103. They were sure it was Nancy driving, but her hair was cut shorter and was no longer the dark brown they had seen in her photographs. Now, it was dyed a distinctive red colour - a shade close enough to Shelly's that, if you were going by hair alone, would help you assume she was related to Shelly, if not actually her mother.  
  
They watched as the two got out of the car. Nancy went around to the trunk and pulled out a couple bags, one of which was a large, pink mesh affair filled with what looked like wet towels. After slamming the lid down, she passed Shelly a bright yellow plastic shopping bag. Squealing with delight, the red haired girl opened it, reached in, and pulled out a stuffed Pluto dog. She stood and hugged it against herself while the older woman smiled at her reaction. Then, glancing briefly around the parking area, she moved to stand in front of their door, rummaging in her purse for their room key.  
  
From their vantage point several spots away and parallel to the line of cars parked directly in front of the motel doors, Samantha observed, "Nancy looks a little tired."  
  
"Must be guilt," Jack grunted. "Kidnapping a friend's kid is a pretty drastic thing to do, even if you do think it's for the best."  
  
"Or it could be because they've spent the day at the water park," Samantha shot back in Nancy's defence. Somewhat surprised by Jack's comment, she continued, "She felt she did what she needed to do. I don't think she thought she had any alternative."  
  
Jack shrugged. "There are always alternatives, you just have to be willing to consider them. We'll know her story soon enough." When the two had gone into their room, closing the burgundy door behind them, he asked, "Ready?"  
  
When she nodded, he swung his car door open.  
  
* * *  
  
They waited only a moment until Nancy answered the door. When she saw the two agents standing there, a shadow passed over her face and she took a step backwards.  
  
"You found us," she said, not having to ask who they were or why they were there.  
  
Jack nodded. "Not that you made it easy, Ms. Thatcher. I'm Special Agent Jack Malone, and this is Special Agent Samantha Spade." Flashing his badge, he added. "It's time for Shelly to go home."  
  
She moved forward into the doorway. "You don't-".  
  
"We know why you took her," Samantha said gently. "We know about her father."  
  
Nancy looked at them blankly a moment, assimilating Samantha's words. "You know," she said finally, looking back and forth between the two agents. Her face a mix of relief and surprise, she collected herself enough to open the door wider, allowing them into the darkened room.  
  
Shelly, sitting cross-legged on the bed in front of the television, looked at them curiously as they entered. Quickly, Nancy told her, "We've got a little change in plans, sweetie. These people have come to talk to me for a bit." Glancing at Jack and Samantha, she said, "They know why you're with me, and it's going to be okay." Moving to get her purse, she took out her wallet. "Why don't you go pick up a snack? You can play a couple video games on the machines in the lobby, too."  
  
Shelly nodded. Eyeing the two agents warily, she unfolded her long legs and got off the bed. She carefully placed the stuffed Pluto dog she'd been holding beside the television, accepted the money Nancy held out to her, and moved towards the door. Once there, she turned around and asked, "You sure you're okay, Aunt Nancy?"  
  
Nancy smiled at her. "I'm sure. You go. Give us twenty minutes or so, okay? Then we'll all talk."  
  
The girl nodded, and with one last glance at the agents, left, closing the door quietly behind her.  
  
A small, veneer-topped table sat against one beige wall, a chair on each side of it. Nancy indicated the chairs with a wave of her hand. "Please, have a seat." While they arranged themselves, she turned off the television, then moved to open the dark grey curtains, allowing a flood of white Florida light into the room. Gathering up a gray upholstered chair, she slid it towards them and sat down. After regarding them silently a moment, she said, "I was being very careful: where did I slip up?"  
  
"You didn't, not really," Jack told her. "The police ran your plate through their data base while they were doing surveillance for another case. When it came up, they contacted us, and here we are."  
  
"And here we are," she echoed, still seeming slightly bemused that they were there. Remembering her earlier comment to Shelly, she ran slender fingers through her coloured hair and visibly gathered herself together. "And you know why I took her."  
  
Both agents nodded, but Jack told her, "We'd like to hear your version."  
  
"I couldn't stand by and watch it happen all over again," she said, raising her eyes to meet theirs as though that explained it all.  
  
"What happen again?" Jack asked.  
  
"I know what he did to Rebecca. He told her if she ever said anything, he'd say she initiated everything. He was the favoured older son and, in her eyes, an adult. She knew no one would believe her: she saw the reaction from her parents when she tried to hint about what he was doing. I told her she was crazy, that she had to tell someone, but she wouldn't. I was a kid, and no one was likely to believe me, were they? Not if she wouldn't back me up."  
  
"You're talking about Murray Smith?"  
  
She nodded.  
  
"And she confided in you at the time?"  
  
She shook her head. "It'd been going on for a while before she said something. When she did, she swore me to secrecy, and I was young and stupid enough to keep that promise. When she graduated and moved out, I thought it was all over. No more guilt to live with."  
  
"Until you met Shelly."  
  
She nodded. "Then I got scared all over again. I mean, he may have gotten over it, you know? He'd married, right? But maybe not. I liked Monica, so we just kept in touch. It made me feel better to know I was kinda keeping an eye out, and I knew Rebecca wanted me to, even if she didn't say much. Then, when Shelly got older..."  
  
"Why didn't you say something to Monica?"  
  
A look of helpless anger crossed Nancy's face. "What good would that do? Rebecca's parents must have suspected something, but they did nothing. How did I know Monica wouldn't be just like that? With Murray, she has a whole support system at stake. She's a nice woman, but not strong. I couldn't trust her not to tell herself is wasn't happening, even though it was." She shook her head and stared at the wall, her mind's eye looking into the past. "He was always so good to Rebecca while he was using her. It made my skin crawl. I could see him doing the same thing with Shelly. No one would have believed it. Monica would have fallen for anything he told her, and I probably wouldn't have been allowed to see Shelly at all. Then who would have looked out for her?" She stopped, obviously upset, then continued, "You know, at first, he told Rebecca it was what brothers and sisters did together. How sick is that? Later, he just threatened her. I couldn't let him do the same sort of thing to Shelly."  
  
"You never considered going to the authorities?" Jack asked.  
  
Her face showed her disillusionment with that idea. "I considered it, yes. I called one of those help lines to find out how things worked. I was told someone from Children's Aid would be sent to the home to investigate. That meant I'd have to wait for him to actually do something to her if I wanted proof. I couldn't let things go that far. I wanted to stop him before he did something, not after."  
  
"So, based purely on your opinion of what he might do, you kidnapped a friend's daughter?"  
  
"I did what needed to be done," she retorted firmly. "Shelly told me he'd started coming in to tuck her in at night when Monica wasn't home in the evening. He'd started talking to her about growing up. I knew. I just knew it was starting." She stopped, then looked at them steadily. "That's when I knew what I needed to do. There was no doubt in my mind at all."  
  
There was a moment of silence, then she made a frustrated movement with her hands. "I stood by and did nothing once. I let it happen, and I swore I never would again."  
  
Again she stopped. Looking at her hands for a moment, their continued silence encouraged her to ask, "You said you knew why I took her. How did you find out? Did Rebecca finally say something?"  
  
Samantha shook her head. "No. He was found in a compromising situation with an underage girl. Ms. Smith has said nothing. Mr. Smith is admitting nothing."  
  
Nancy sat back in her chair. "But there's proof he's sick. You can keep him away from her."  
  
Both agents nodded.  
  
She looked at them. Finding the reassurance she needed in their eyes, she leaned back. "It's really over, then."  
  
There was another moment's silence. "I suppose I should be asking what's going to happen to me," Nancy said into it. Jack could feel Samantha's gaze as he said, "That remains to be seen, Ms. Thatcher. Kidnapping is a serious offence."  
  
"But there were mitigating circumstances," Samantha hastened to put in. "You'll have to wait and see."  
  
Nancy nodded. Looking up, she held Jack's eyes fiercely. "Whatever the consequences are for this, I stand by what I did. Shelly knows why she's been with me. She'd never have agreed if she hadn't known there was a danger for her. We were just waiting for the right time to let Monica know where she was."  
  
A soft knock on the door interrupted further conversation.  
  
"Time to talk with Shelly," Jack said, "then we'll get you back to New York. Shelly's mother is looking forward to seeing her again."  
  
* * *  
  
Epilogue: It Ain't Over 'Til It's Over....  
  
Shelly and Nancy had left, along with a representative of the Kissamee police force, on a 4:15 Delta flight. Monica Smith had been contacted with confirmation of her daughter's return and would be at the airport to meet them.  
  
As the travel agent had warned him earlier that day, Jack and Samantha had several hours before they could leave. Only a cancellation on the 9:15 flight had got them seats out at all.  
  
"I miss the days when we could just bump someone if we were on official business," Jack grumbled. He also missed the days they stayed over just for the enjoyment of being together, but he could not say that.  
  
"Well, if this was an emergency, we could," Samantha said reasonably. With a hint of humour, she added, "You'd have a hard time convincing them your wanting to get back to the office was one, though."  
  
The Kissamme police had blown their chances of a real excuse when they'd insisted that they should be the ones handing Nancy over to the NYPD. Jack, when he'd been told, had snorted and told Samantha, "They just want an excuse for a trip to New York." Perhaps he was right. In any event, they were out one good excuse to bump regular citizens from their seats. A pity, perhaps, but there was one compensation...  
  
He paused a moment, looking at her intently. In a softer voice, he said, "It looks as though I've been provided an excellent opportunity to take you to dinner."  
  
She raised an eyebrow and tried not to show the effect his stare had on her pulse rate. "Know any place good?"  
  
He smiled a half smile and nodded. "It just so happens I do."  
  
* * *  
  
Samantha looked around the dining room with satisfaction. The place Jack had chosen was small and private, its darkened interior candlelit and intimate. Along the left and back walls were cloth-covered tables for two, most of them set in small alcoves. Larger tables were scattered in the middle of the room, with a few strategically placed potted trees interspersed amongst them. Overhead, huge fans turned languidly, making their foliage shiver. An impressive, dark mahogany bar ran along the right wall of the restaurant with glasses and bottles of various shape, size, and colour gleaming on glass shelves behind it. A half dozen or so of the bar stools in front of it held quietly conversing patrons.  
  
After being seated by a friendly waiter dressed in a crisp white shirt and black pants, she examined the other diners and immediately felt underdressed.  
  
Jack watched her, his eyes dark. "Stop it," he said, "You look beautiful."  
  
She smiled at him, relaxing. "You say the nicest things."  
  
He smiled in return. "I'm not original, but I'm honest."  
  
Their eyes locked, then slid away as they found themselves unable to deal with the intensity of what had again sprung between them. Jack cleared his throat and began to talk about the day. They conversed a while, Jack finally saying, "It was pretty obvious where your sympathies lay. My God, Sam. Telling her she'd likely only be charged with public mischief? Kidnapping is the more appropriate charge, and you know it."  
  
Samantha felt her dander rise. "In this case? Come on, Jack. You know it'd never stick. You spoke to Martin; you know the mother's reaction. She'll never press charges."  
  
The waiter arrived, interrupting their conversation. Once they'd placed their order and he'd left, they resumed where they'd left off: "But charges could still be laid, and kidnapping's the offence she committed," Jack insisted.  
  
"That would be the wrong thing to do. She doesn't deserve that."  
  
"I don't see why not."  
  
Samantha's eyes flashed at his stubbornness and she placed a hand on the table. Making her point by tapping her forefinger in counterpoint to her words, she said, "Circumstances. You're forgetting mitigating circumstances. You don't really think-"  
  
A warm hand covered hers, and she stopped abruptly.  
  
"No, Sam, I don't." She stilled, her eyes falling from his smile to settle on the table where his thumb had begun to draw lazy circles on the top of her hand. Silence hung between them, still and intense, lingering deliciously around them like mist. The mood so suddenly changed, they sat a while, wordlessly examining his thumb's movements. Searching for words, Samantha finally asked in a small voice, "What are we going to do, Jack?"  
  
The loneliness in her words leapt up to meet with his. He waited a moment before answering, concentrating on the feel of her flesh beneath his thumb. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "I'm not sure what's right any more."  
  
He gripped her hand tightly. He'd given her up, had ended their affair. For the sake of his family. For the sake of both their careers.  
  
He couldn't let her go completely, though.  
  
"It's okay," Samantha said softly. "There's time. I'll be here."  
  
"That's not fair to you."  
  
"And it is for you? You're in a no win situation, Jack; I recognise that. It must be hell, and I hate that there's nothing that I can do to help except wait on the sidelines and try not to make things worse for you." She smiled sadly. "Believe me, being the little woman waiting in the wings ain't my idea of what a modern woman should be doing."  
  
He shook his head. "You shouldn't be putting your life on hold. You could find someone else, someone more suitable: younger, better looking, saner profession..."  
  
She tilted her head to one side and regarded him steadily. Slowly, she said, "You don't really want me to do that."  
  
He met her gaze, saw the confidence there. No, he admitted to her silently, he didn't. He wanted her in his life, not someone else's. Never someone else's. He wanted her in his life the way she had been and could be no longer. In his arms...in his bed...  
  
"No," he admitted aloud. "Not really."  
  
"And besides," she said honestly, "I know what I want, and I want you, not someone else. I was perfectly happy with what we had; the affair worked for me. The awful thing is that it didn't work for you. And," she said, still honest, "maybe there would have come a time when it didn't work so well for me, I suppose." She gave him a half smile and admitted, "I'm greedy. I'd have started to want more, probably. You did the right thing. This is the honest thing to do. You have to try with Maria, and we have to try to see if we can get over whatever it is that's going on between us."  
  
She regarded him with dark eyes, knowing there was no way in hell she was likely to get over whatever it was that was between them. She'd say what needed to be said, though, and do what needed to be done to make things easier for him. Her head, after all, was perfectly capable of rational thought, it was just the rest of her - her heart, her body and her soul - that was a mess when it came to Jack Malone.  
  
Silence stretched out between them. Finally, Jack said quietly, "It's been months, Sam. I'm not getting over it. Are you?"  
  
She closed her eyes. There was the admission she'd longed for. It wasn't over. For either of them.  
  
He moved slightly in his seat, reaching further across the table to take her hand in both of his. Earnestly, he explained, "I want things to work out with Maria because that's the way I was brought up; that's the way it's supposed to work: guy grows up, marries, has a couple wonderful kids...he meets someone else and he screws up, but he goes back to his wife and they fix things up and they all live happily ever after. That's how it's supposed to be, right? And that's how it'd work out best for Katie and Hannah. It's the sensible scenario, the scenario that's best for them, but in the back of my mind, you're always there, Sam, even when I'm thinking about my duty as a husband and father."  
  
He needed her in a way he couldn't explain, in a way he didn't understand. She'd brought life and energy into his life, along with comfort and confidence. She'd brought a kind of companionship and, yes, a love into his life he hadn't known existed, and he didn't want to lose it. Was afraid of losing it.  
  
"I don't know what to do," he admitted.  
  
Her heart aching for him, Samantha thought a moment, choosing her words carefully. "Jack, give it time. At some point it's going to be obvious what needs to be done because we won't be able to do anything else. We're just not at that point yet."  
  
"I don't know what to say."  
  
She smiled and turned her hand over to curl her fingers into his. Loving him, she said, "Of course you don't. I don't know what to say, either, not really. I'm just babbling. Maybe nothing needs to be said just yet."  
  
One thing, he knew did: "I love you."  
  
The gruffly spoken words held an unspoken plea that touched her heart. She tightened her grip on his hand. "I know. But it's more complicated than that."  
  
"So we just go on the way we are."  
  
Knowing it was what he needed to hear, she nodded. "For now, I think that's what's needed."  
  
He felt a sense of gratitude. When they had begun their affair, she had been what he'd needed, and that hadn't changed. But he needed his daughters, too, and they needed an intact family. Though he couldn't have explained it in words, on some subconscious level he recognised that he and Maria were good parents, if not loving partners. Until the latter affected the former, he felt he needed to hang in, at least for a while.  
  
It meant setting aside the woman sitting across from him.  
  
For a while.  
  
And she was allowing him this time. He felt a weight ease off his shoulders. They were no closer to being happy, perhaps, than they had been when they'd entered the restaurant, but she had given him what he'd needed: time.  
  
The waiter arrived and quietly placed their dinner on the table. They smiled at each other companionably and began to eat. Samantha had seen a movie she thought he should see...  
  
End What's Needed 


End file.
